


the roots are in place

by LesbianLucretia



Category: RWBY
Genre: Character Study, Gen, S7E13, Sharing a Body, no beta no editing we die like men, spoilers ig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:20:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22627747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesbianLucretia/pseuds/LesbianLucretia
Summary: “Just gone.” Had sufficed at the time but it was… far more than that.(or: how the fuck do you explain the feeling of sharing a body when it cant be put into words as easily as people think.)
Relationships: Ozpin & Oscar Pine
Comments: 2
Kudos: 123





	the roots are in place

**Author's Note:**

> fuck RT i watch RWBY for oscar, the bees, and qrow ONLY
> 
> clover deserved better

Oscar didn’t know how to describe it. 

“Just gone.” Had sufficed at the time but it was… far more than that.

It had felt invasive, at first. Not at all like one would expect someone else suddenly moving into your head and refusing to leave like some kind of squatter, but invasive. He didn’t feel him, not physically, nor emotionally, but… it was there.

He’d looked into the mirror, met his own eyes, and saw someone else. He hadn’t recognized himself at first, then did with a jolt and an odd feeling. Again, not a feeling that’s physical or emotional. He just knew. Something wasn’t wrong, no, but it was different. Something had shifted, clicked into place.

And then Ozpin had introduced himself and he’d screamed.

And, Oscar cannot stress this enough, he did not feel him in anyway he had ever felt before. In the months leading up to Ozpin actually talking to him, he knew something was different. He never could place it but… he’s still not doing a very good job at describing.

Okay. Let’s try again.

He first felt it when he woke up gasping from a nightmare he could not remember, but the feeling of not remembering did not leave. Oscar didn’t know he was there but he also did. Something was there. Something new. Like a nightmare not forgotten but simply left alone. Unthought of. Unpursued. He didn’t know why he left this… pressure alone, but it wasn’t his problem as he didn’t even notice it until it made it’s presence known.

“It” is a bit rude, though. He’s a person just like Oscar.

Oz’s presence was brighter, after that point. The guy could not stop talking and Oscar couldn’t stop himself from reaching back sometimes. After that single moment in the barn with the mirror, Ozpin became a physical and emotional feeling. 

Oz could tug at him like one would tug on a sleeve to get his attention. He could feel his emotions like they were Oscar’s own, but more muted. Like he was behind a curtain. 

Oscar hated it at first but as time went on he found himself being more and more in sync with Ozpin. He would find himself thinking in first person when thinking of Ozpin. He looked up when he heard Oz’s name like it was his own.

He knew it went both ways. When in control, Oz would flub pronouns. He would say “I” when he meant “Oscar” and would react to Oscar’s name in the same way. 

They both realized these things pretty immediately at first and Oscar was irritated about it, initially, but feeling the muffled waves of guilt coming from Ozpin usually just made him sigh and move on. He didn’t stop correcting himself. Oz didn’t bother, sometimes.

Oscar hated it when Oz didn’t correct himself.

He hated it even more when he learned the truth.

But then he came back into himself after struggling to take back control, with a bruised cheek and everyone glaring at him. They’d softened, instantly, when he raised a hand to his throbbing, aching face.

Qrow had asked— had made Oscar realize Oz wasn’t giving off that soft, insistent pressure like a firm hand on a shoulder— but when Oscar looked— like trying to remember a dream—

Nothing.

And it wasn’t as if there was something missing from him, either. No, he felt whole. He felt like himself. He felt complete. He had always had only one soul to begin with, anyways.

But the pressure was gone.

(Like a dream that slipped away.)

Like when someone moves their hand off your shoulder and now the spot is colder because your skin got used to the warmth.

The spot would warm again, eventually, but the person— the support, the touch— is gone.

(Not even an afterthought, a paranoid wiggle in your head, the feeling of someone standing behind you but not close enough to feel their body heat.)

“He’s just gone.” Was applicable and capable of expressing his concern but it just didn’t really fit the hole.

Not a hole.

Indent.

(Like pressing against rubber for long enough that it doesn’t bounce back as fast.)

But it was… months. Months and months. The inkling of a dream didn’t return. The feeling of the hand didn’t return. He tried to trick himself into feeling as if there was a dark, compressed corner in his mind— in his chest, that’s always where he heard Ozpin— but there wasn’t.

And life went on.

(“To you, it’s General.”)

_ Oscar _ .

His eyes open by themselves. 

That’s always how it felt, with Oz. His body, acting against its master.

(But which one—?)

(Sometimes, without even really thinking about it, not bringing it up in his consciousness but keeping it folded and tucked away, he thinks it may be easier to give in.)

He feels the hand on the shoulder, the pressure on the rubber, and he also feels a foreign thought carefully brought to his attention like it was being pressed gently, so gently into his hands.

They grab the cane and Oscar saves them.

They fall and then they land and for a second— just one— it feels like they both have one hand on the wheel. They’re in sync, now. No wrestling, just pure survival instinct simply amplified from both of them.

At that thought Oz flinches with Oscar’s hand. He retreats again, the pressure softening, and Oscar is too caught up in the euphoria of having survived the fall, of green light sparking from his body, of the rush of power he feels in his chest— in his soul— and just of Oz being  _ back _ that he doesn’t notice and just  _ breathes _ .

And, like remembering a dream, memories that aren’t his slowly fade back in.

(“Autumn colored.”)

“You’re back, aren’t you? You saved me.”

He realizes he should sound mad a split second later.

_ Actually, you saved us. _

He hears a far-off thunderclap and looks up. 

(The sky looks like hell came up the express elevator.)

(He knows it’s Salem. He knows because Ozpin knows.)

_ Oscar, I— _

“Stop it.” Oscar says, his mind unable to process any kind of olive branch. He’s reeling now that the adrenaline is fading and is aura is pulsing as Oz feeds his own into it. 

He doesn’t need this, right now. He doesn’t need a long winded guilt-riddled apology. He needs—

“All I want to know is how we save Atlas next.”


End file.
